Last Wednesday night, I reached 53 pages in my Script Frenzy work. As the day before that had been the halfway-mark, I was pretty much back on target. However, I managed to write myself into a plot-hole and I had no idea how to get out of it. Then add the following woes:

On Thursday, I drank a shitload of beer with my brother (somehow managing to pull a muscle in my arm). On Friday, Mrs. Jimmy Page’s Trousers’ aunt stayed over and I got nothing done and. On Saturday and Sunday, I wallowed in self-pity at having no way out of my plot-hole.

The result? I’m behind again.

Last night, in bed, an idea. I have a tenuous, gossamer-thin, filament of a way out of my plot hole so, tonight, I’ll start hanging the entire weight of the second half of the script on that.

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Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.